The Forty-Seventh Hunger Games
by I.Poop.Glitters
Summary: I always wished that I wouldn't have to go to the Games myself. I feel sorry for those who do. I feel sorry for those who came back. The trauma they have faced. Sorrier for these who came back, yet no life surged through them. But now, I have to be sorry for myself. I can't. I can;t be sorry. I have to be strong.


Chapter One: The Reapings

Author's Note: Basically, I found Oliver's Delirium creative, and so you may be reminded of it as you read my fan fic.  
Disclaimer: It's all thanks to Suzanne that The Hunger Games exist. The only things I own here are my characters.

* * *

In penance for their uprising,  
each District shall offer up  
a male and female, beetween the ages of  
12 and 18 at a public "Reaping".

These tributes shall be delivered  
to the custody of The Capitol.

And then transferred to a public arena  
where they will Fight to the Death,  
until a lone victor remains.

Henceforth and forevermore  
this pageant shall be known as  
**The Hunger Games**  
-From the Treaty of the Treason

* * *

The smell of salt floods my nostrils, as I slowly stretch and rub the sleepiness out of my eyes. The first thought which popped into my mind is; The Reapings. But I try to push it away the second it popped up, and after a few seconds with my eyes closed, I, miraculously, pushed it away. I opened my eyes. The sight of my bedroom greets me, as always.

There were several sea shells hanging on the walls, the walls, which were made of wood seemed soggy and weak, like it has been wet for a very long time. The ceiling had a lightbulb, which I barely use. Electricity is expensive, and we use it only on special occasions. The bed I lie on had a white sheet, no cushions, no matress, just a white sheet spreaded over it which smelled strongly, like verything else, of salt. It was made of wood, which, to my disbelief, was used during the Rebellion. Yet it still survived. Everytime I lie on it, it feels as if I can hear the shouts of the people who fought before, echoing in my ears. I have always wanted to get rid of this bed, but it's either the bed or the floor. Or I go out of the borders to gather wood and make a new one, but it would be a suicide mission. Facing me is a large wardrobe, which, I think belonged to my great-great-great grandfather. It was chipped in many places, and a large hole can be found on it's upper side, which, through the years, have provided a sufficient home for rats, spiders, and even an owl I found when I was fourteen. It had a cracked mirror, but, suprisingly, you could still make out your face eveytime you looked at it. Beside my bed is a small, mossy cabinet which held "books". Only if you could still call them books that is. They were barely readable, the ink almost faded, and there is only one book I have read there. It's from a guy called Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. Yet I was only able to read into chapter two. But at least I read a book which we owned. Aside from those, there is nothing else in the room.

For a couple of moments, I lie frozen on the bed, thinking of anything my mind could imagine. It must have been along time, because when I snap out of my reverie, my room has been fully illuminated by the sun's light. It looked stunning. It was one of the only moments when I would actually like my room. I get up and face the huge mirror attached to the wardrobe.

A girl with dark brown hair wtood facing me. So dark it appeared bistre. Her hair ran all the way towards her waist in smooth waves. It reminded me of water. She had Sapphire blue eyes, which seemed to gleam with the light. The girl had a rather curvaceous figure, which greatly resembled an hourglass though I only saw an hourglass once. She stared at me for a couple of seconds, wearing nothing more but a faded red shirt, which was now a shade of pink, and shorts. I blink again, then clap my hands together, as I made my way to the door. I lifted- yes, lifted, since it isn't bolted to the door frame- it aside and the fammilar sight of the kitchen faced me.

It was, like everything in my house, made of wood, though it was strangely frozen in time, like it was just built. The walls seemed strong, unlike very wall in the house which seemed weak. So weak it seemed it would crumble down when you touch it. There was a long, rectangular table in the middle, which held a small, burnt-out candle from last night and a small plate covered by another plate. Surrounding the table were five rickety chairs, three are still in use. My mother and eldest sister used to occupy the other two, but my mother died shortly after my eight birthday. She drowned while fishing with my father. He has never been the same since. He scowled everytime he sees the ocean. But he has to venture into it if he wants to live. If he wants us to live. My sister, Annalissa, used to occupy the other. But she was reaped. Twenty-fifth Hunger Games. They voted her in. Careers weren;t so popular back then. A reason my father hated life even more. She went in the arena, and she came back. In a coffin. I shrug off the memories and focus on the details of the kitchen. There was a electric light bulb which hung by a single wire delicately from the ceiling, though even if we want to use it we can't. I supposed it work though from a very long time ago. Long before I was born. There was a stove which was held up by a small table, which seemed it would give in any moment soon. Those were theonly things in the kitchen. A dead bulb, a table surrounded by chairs, a table holding up the stove, and the stove itself.

I walk towards the table and take off the plate's cover and the smell of fish floods my nostrils. I eat breakfast alone most of the time, and I'm far too used to it to care. It has been so long since we ate together. My father works early, the last time I saw him before he went to work was three years ago. Nowadays, I always wake up with him gone. My older sister, Hana, is a canner. She goes to the factories long before I I also have a job to do, so I eat fast. I finish the salty tasting fish and get up, wiping my hands on a wet towel hanging over a chair. I get up and dress myself with a weather beaten gray, which used to be black, shirt and jeans which was so old the cloth seemes so light it would be blown away by air like a weak dandelion, and boots, which had a small hole by the top. I march out of the house and the scent of salt blast through my nostrils. The sight of wooden, run down houses greet me, standing side by side and I feel the sand beneath my feet. We live in the Impecunious areas. Areas near the sea, close to our occupations. This areas are poverty stricken, though very little of four are. Uptown, which is a hill, a big hill, where buildings tower to the sky, where factories release smoke into the air and where people are well fed, is the wealthy part of Four. They take up almost ninety percent of Four. While the other are dwelled in by the Indigents. Us. Poor people. My sister, Hana, works up there. She says it's like heaven compared to where we live. I dream of living there some day, but it's very hard to climb out of being an Indigent. Very few do make it out and live in the city, and they always come back poor as ever. Indigents don't adapt well there. Alexia Deans, a girl from here, had inherited money from her parents, but warned her to stay in the Impecunious areas, but she went to Uptown anyway and she came back a week later poorer than my family.

I walk towards the sea, which was about twenty steps away, where Mrs. Harris stood by a boat, she lifted her head to look at me, and she scowled. She was an old widow, who seemed eighty by the looks of her. She had unkempt white hair which ran all the ay towards her shoulder. She had gray eyes. A common eye color in Four. She is always seen with a gray shirt, and green skirt which ran towards her knees. She was hunchbacked and she wore a green poncho everywhere she went.

"You're late!" she snapped, throwing bundles of rope at me. "I don' need no late comers. Them fisher folks must have already gotten to the best fishing spots by now!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harris. I didn't want to be two minuites late. I'm ever so sorry." I say, my voice heavy with sarcasm. I began to knot the ropes into nets.

"You young folks don' respect the old anymore!" she snaps, looking out into the ocean, spitting on the ground.

I hold my tounge. I don't want to have my pay decreased again. I just continue to fel the rough rope beneath my fingers and continued to knot them into nets. By the time I finish, Mrs. Harris was looking devastated. I hand her the ropes and she handed me a small box filled with two fishes.

"Thanks, Mrs. Harris." I say, taking the fish with me.

"You better be quick, Annabeth. The Reaping gonna happen at noon." she said, spitting at the ground once more.

Dread courses through my veins. The Reapings. I tried to push it away from my mind the second I woke up, but of course, Mrs. Harris had to bring it began to trickle down my neck. "Y-Yeah." I reply, continuing to walk towards the house. I get a white dress too small for me, and white doll shoes, only they're not white anymore. More like gray. I braid my hair, which was wet with sweat, but I don't mind. I don't mind if I come to the Reapings looking disgusting. The only thing I dread is to make it home tonight. I wait on my bed, waiting for the sun to position itself in the middle of the sky. The Justice Hall isn't far from here. I wait patiently. By the time sunlight poured into my room from the middle of the sky, I stand up and join families as they walk towards the Justice Building. Boys had their usual polo and slacks, either too big for them, or too short to cover their ankles. I walk with them in silence, some were hand in hand with their parent, others, like me went alone. My dad won't be able to make it. He never does. My sister Hana will be able to attend however. She will be standing by the crowds. She's twenty six after all. Girls wore dresses. Too small, or too big. I walk alone, as sweat began to trickle down by spine. A few minuites later, I saw the gleams of cars and the people from Uptown began to climb out of them. They wore majestic dresses, unlike ours. Everytime they see us, they raise their noses high up into the air, and every time an Indigent comes to them, they scoot away as far as possible, as if we were infected with some sort pf disease. I position myself by the other fifteen year olds, there were several Uptowners with us, very few Indigents, however, stood where we stood. We wait for a couple of minuites, as the Mayor and other officials began to position themselves, along with Mags, a victor from long ago. A couple minuites more our District escort, Mavis, stood before us.

As usual, she looked freakish. She had orange hair which ran towards her waist in a straight line. She had whiskers, an implant from the capitol and a tatoo of a fish on her right arm, which was barely seen because of her long sleeved barely see through dress. She had a sharp face, though she was not to be crossed, but I would ove to cross her. She's annoying. More than annoying.

My eyes hurt by looking at Mavis, so instead I look at the Justice Hall. It was a majestic building. It loomed over us, with it's eleven floors. Two fishes stood as pillars on either side of the platform where the officials, Mags and Mavis stood. The left one was shaped like a letter C. The one facing it. The walls were made of white marble, which were chipped in many places. Indigents chipped them and placed the marbled in front of our houses, for good luck. But even if it was chipped, you could still make out the mermaids, fishes and shells carved on it.

By the time I focus on Mavis, she was already showing us the film she showed us every year, she recited it with the film, at the top of her lungs, tears flowing out of her eyes. Oh gosh. Somebody hand me a gun! But aside from her, peace keepers stood on the stage, lined the crowds. Lined us. And at last, the film finishes and Mavis wipes her eyes on a towel, her tears, along with a gallon of make up, come off from her face onto the towel. She takes a couple of seconds to settle down and she spekas a little more, and she approaches the giant bowls were thousand of slips dwelled in. Only one would be chosen, there's a slim chance he or she would go to the games, since almost very often, careers save his or her neck. He goes to the boys bowl first, and withdraws a slip. "Drew Dre-" Mavis reads out loud, but as she did, people from the crowd explodes, raising their hands high up into the air. Volounteers. It takes a while for Mavis to choose him, but as soon as she did, he went from the crowd to the stage almost immediately. By the way he dressed, he's an Uptowner.

He had caramel colored hair and dark, sensitive blue eyes. He had a built figure. Maybe to built for an Uptowner. He looked handsome. Too handsome for my liking. I blush and turn away.

"What's your name?" Mavis' questions snapped me out of my reverie.

"Andrew Writhes." he replied at once, Mavis gives him a pat on the shoulder, and he smiles. Mavis smiled, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Someone give me a gun please!

"Now, for the girls." she says. As the words escaped her lips, my stomach drops. I wasn't too calm anymore. It felt like instead of blood, dread coursed through my veins. Mavis placed her hands inside the bowl and withdrew a small slip, the words which came after made my stomach drop, and I swear for a second, I was about to faint.

"Annabeth Willows." she says.

I don't know what I was to expect, but silence as not one of them. Not a single hand rose into the air to take my place.

* * *

I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are more than welcome. They are, in fact, encouraged. :)))


End file.
